


A Monster (With a Pretty Face)

by lesbianettes



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Drug Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Full Moon, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Minor Character Death, Pack Dynamics, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Scars, Trauma, Unhappy Ending, Violence, Werecat!Christopher, Werecat!Eddie, Werewolf!Buck, Werewolf!Chimney, retraumatization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: Buck starts his new life in Los Angeles after a decade of being held captive. The physical wounds have long since healed, but the emotional wounds are going to stick around a little longer.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Bobby Nash, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Howie "Chimney" Han, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Howie "Chimney" Han/Bobby Nash
Comments: 21
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Sick Mind" by Elliot Lee

Buck almost doesn’t walk into firehouse 118 on that first day; he knows he’s good enough to be here, that it’s all he wants out of his life, but it has this smell to it. It’s not necessarily pleasant or unpleasant. It just has something about it that makes him want to turn around and run as far from it as possible, before he gets in trouble for doing something he shouldn’t. For ten minutes, he stands out there. Alone. Waiting for some indication of if it’s safe to go in. At the labs, everything was always so thoroughly scrubbed it just smelled like bleach, and while LA has been an exercise in defining scents, he’s never encountered something quite like this.

The firefighters are all on the upper level, he can tell as soon as he walks into the bay. They’re loud and happy-sounding, sharing lunch if the clinking of forks and the scent of tomato sauce is anything to go by. Buck’s been enjoying the variety of food available in his newfound freedom, and tomato sauce is up there as one of his favorites. Sweet, but also savory, with tons of layers of different vegetables and spices and sometimes meats. He ignores that last part. He makes his way toward them, because he honestly doesn’t know where else to go, and finds that one of the firefighters smells like the house does. It’s faintly woody, but much less disruptive when it’s him directly. This close, Buck can also tell that he’s the same. He isn’t a human. The other two are.

“Hey,” he manages. All three people at the table turn to him immediately. “I’m uh, Evan Buckley. I’m looking for Captain Nash?”

The other man, the one who isn’t a wolf, pats the empty seat beside him. “That’s me. Have a seat, Evan.”

“It’s Buck, actually.”

Captain Nash smiles and repeats it before grabbing a new bowl and serving Buck a large portion of the pasta they’re eating, coated in the tomato sauce and still steaming warm. He picks up his fork, like a normal person, and stabs at it for a minute before he gets a couple noodles onto it. That was one of the first things he learned when he came to LA. Normal people, those raised in a normal life, use their silverware and not their hands. It took getting used to, as most things do. But he likes to think he passes well enough that most people wouldn’t know what he is. 

The food is good, and it becomes clear right away how much these people trust each other. He wonders if the two humans know the truth, but before he can ask, they decide to do proper introductions. First is Captain Nash, who says to just call him Bobby. Some of the researchers were like that; they thought a first name made them easier to trust. Buck gets the sense that’ll be true with Bobby, though, so he nods. The other human introduces herself next as Hen, and Buck likes her right off the bat. She’s not just friendly, she also has this comforting air about her that makes Buck trust her in a way he hasn’t trusted anyone before.

Then there’s the other werewolf, who rubs his hands together in that excited way people do on the late night cable shows Buck watched when he was tending bar before the academy. “Chimney. I gotta say, can’t wait to have another wolf around. Where are you from?”

Instead of answering, Buck chokes on his pasta. He’s so casual about it, like it’s normal to be and talk about. Bobby and Hen don’t seem at all phased by it, which means they must already know. Now they know about him, too. This is a trap. This whole thing was a trap, they’ve found him and he’s going to go back, he doesn’t want to go back. He swore to himself he’d sooner die than go back there again. If he throws himself over the balcony, it probably won’t kill him. Maybe the knives in the kitchen, if he’s fast enough. He won’t go back. 

“Hey, Buck, are you okay?”

They’re all staring at him with varying levels of concern on their faces. He takes a sip of water to calm himself down before he even tries to answer. Cool, refreshing water. No one’s going to take that from him. They wait patiently until Buck’s composed enough to put together a response. 

“Yeah, I just- Chimney, they know?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Chimney asks. “I spend like a million hours a week with them.”

That’s not relevant. They’re still humans, could still turn against him and Chimney at any moment. But what comes out of Buck’s mouth instead is, “There’s only 168 hours in a week.”

Everyone laughs and it isn't brought up again during the meal, instead covered with light get-to-know you questions that Buck has to mostly dance around. He grew up in Pennsylvania- although even that is iffy- and he has a sister but they don't talk. He moved to LA almost six years ago. He decided to be a firefighter just a couple weeks before he joined the academy. It's not an interrogation but it sort of feels like one, because he's never been asked about himself in good faith. Before now, everything has been a trap. That's the sort of thing he can't shake. 

As they're clearing away their plates from lunch, the alarm sounds, loud and shrill in a way that makes Buck cover his ears for a split second before remembering where he is. They have to go. It makes him feel a little better that Chimney flinches at the loud noise too. He’s not alone, he reminds himself, slinging his body up into the cab of the fire truck for the very first time. Hen smiles at him as he fits his headset onto his head. It blocks out the majority of the sound of the siren, and the little microphone lets him tune into their words with ease. 

“First call and it’s a pileup,” Bobby’s voice sounds in his ears. “Get ready, Buckaroo, we’ll be here for a while.”

They pull up at an intersection that looks more like a movie scene. There’s five cars involved, people bleeding and laying on the streets. Buck has never seen anything like this in real life. At first, he’s too stunned to do anything besides stare, but then Bobby hands him the jaws of life and directs him to a borderline hysterical young woman trapped in her upside down car. Hen is already right there with a stabilizing collar, carefully securing it around her neck, and checking her vitals. She’ll fall once her seatbelt is cut. But first, they need to get the door open, and that’s something Buck is more than happy to do. He knows on some level that he could probably rip the thing apart with his bare hands, but  he could also get dragged back to the labs if he exposes himself like that in front of people. So Buck positions the jaws and turns them on, slowly prying the door open while Hen reassures the woman. 

“Just breathe, ma’am,” Hen reminds her. “You’re in good hands. We’re gonna take care of you, alright?”

She sobs, but still takes a deep breath according to Hen’s instructions. Once the door is off, she doesn’t even react to what’s left of her leg being exposed to the fresh air. It’s a lot of blood. Buck can see the bone. He wills himself not to feel anything about it; he knew what he was doing when he joined the LAFD, and if he’s sick about this, they’ll discard him before he knows what hit him.

“Hey, Buckley, over here!”

He glances at Hen, who gives him approval, before running to Chimney. He’s dealing with a kid trapped in the backseat, looking relatively unharmed save for a minor cut on his face and a clearly broken arm. He’ll be alright once he’s out. 

“Okay, buddy,” Buck says gently, “I’m gonna use this machine here to make the door open, okay? It’s gonna be a little loud.”

“What about my mommy?”

The woman in the driver’s seat is drenched in blood and still. Chimney shakes his head at Buck slightly. It’s too late, there’s nothing they can do for her now. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her in a bit. But right now, we’re gonna get you out so my friend Chim here can make sure you’re alright.”

For the rest of the call, Buck doesn’t stay in one place for long. He goes where he’s needed between the two paramedics, assisting with this or that. A couple times he helps open the cars, or otherwise takes care of minor injuries to keep Hen and Chimney free for those in need of more. Another unit is on their way, but it might be a few. Buck puts bandages on scrapes, comforts scared civilians. He’s helping, doing what’s right, even if every time he glances back at that woman from the upside down car it makes him a little nauseous.

By the time it’s over, Hen and Chimney loading the woman into the ambulance while the backup unit takes the only other major injury that wasn’t DOA, Buck is surprisingly exhausted. It took a lot of energy, mental and physical, to keep up with it all, especially given the way he can smell and hear every single thing. 

“How’re you holding up?” Bobby asks while they pack up the last of their gear. “Chimney said the first few dozen were rough. Being able to smell all the blood.”

“Smelling it doesn’t bother me.”

It isn’t until they’re back at the station that Buck realizes his words were a little strange. Seeing it was upsetting, sure. Being able to smell the fear and the pain and the busted engines. But the smell of blood itself is nothing new. From the time he was a child, he was familiar with it, unable to escape it. It became background noise like the ventilator fan, and he barely registered the scent of blood. And it had been everywhere. 

_ “I don’t know what you expected, Evan.”  _

_ She touches his face. She loves doing that, especially when he’s so fully restrained and can’t even turn away. Hard acrylic points, sharp, dig into his cheek to remind him she’s angry, as though he could forget. Her sickeningly sweet voice has never been kind, especially not now, with the taste of blood still in his mouth. He thinks some of it is his, knows for a fact most of it is Assistant Kennedy’s. _

_ “Suppose you did manage to get past every researcher in this facility, every armed guard, the electric fence, the watch towers, and the biometric entrance. Where would you go? There’s no one but us for miles. You have no money, no ID, no friends, no family. You’d either come back or die trying.” _

_ Surprisingly, he isn’t in pain. Once he was dragged back here, they gave him something for it, so that he wouldn’t instinctively flinch as they dig the barbs of the taser out of his skin. No sunlight, inadequate food, and little exercise have made him too fragile for this. The taser honestly wasn’t that bad. The shock stick is worse. But it still brought him down long enough to be restrained.  _

_ “I do so much for you. I feed you, I bathe you, I protect you from yourself. If I wasn’t here, you’d be so much worse. You’re already a monster. Do you want me to show you?” _

_ He won’t beg. He swears to himself, now and forever, that he won’t beg her for anything, no matter what. As much as he hates giving into that monster, being everything they say he is, he won’t beg her to spare him from that. If she wants a monster, he will give her a monster. _

“You good there?”

Buck realizes he’s frozen in the middle of untying his shoes and nods a little too fast. “Yeah, sorry, just remembering something.”

Chimney doesn’t push, but he doesn’t seem convinced either. Nonetheless, he hangs up his coat and heads up to the loft where Bobby is heating up something to eat. It’s not quite dinner time yet, but they had an early lunch and that call was exhausting, so they’re all hungry enough for reheated bacon and waffles Bobby pulled out of the fridge. In Buck’s case, he’ll stick with just a waffle. It looks good, looks fluffy and sweet and everything breakfast should be, even in the middle of the afternoon. Bobby fills plates with one waffle and two strips of bacon each, passing them out on the way to their seats.

Determined not to seem too odd, Buck pushes his waffle out of the way of the bacon, to ensure they don’t touch. There’s not much grease on the plate, but he’d still rather none of it ruin his waffle. He doesn’t do meat. Not anymore. It stays off to the side as he pours probably a bit more syrup than he actually needs. He’s discovered sweet things to be irresistible.

“You’re not gonna eat that?” Chimney asks.

His plate has four strips of bacon, but not much for the waffle, and his cheeks are stuffed puffy when he points at Buck’s plate. Buck raises an eyebrow, but still turns it so Chimney can easily steal his bacon. 

“I don’t eat meat.”

They all narrow their eyes at him. Like they know something, which they definitely shouldn’t, but they could. The mere idea of it is enough for Buck to consider shoving the bacon in his mouth, just to prove he’s normal, even if it would make him sick right here and now. But he sits up taller instead. He doesn’t have to prove himself. Finally, Chimney shrugs and mumbles something along the lines of “more for me.” 

Crisis averted, for now. Buck is sure this will come up again in the future, with a lot less quiet acceptance and a lot more questions. He knows enough about himself and his body, about other werewolves to know how important and necessary meat is. But any time he tries, it just makes him sick. There’s too many bad memories. He’s learned the routine of several supplements every morning to make up for it, and even that isn’t complete. But he’s still alive. That’s something he’s allowed to be proud of, he tells himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s reassuring, the way none of the other firefighters push Buck to open up more than he’s ready for- in other words, no one makes him say anything at all. He’s still jumpy and probably always will be, so they announce themselves before they get too close and don’t mock him if he flinches. Bobby takes care to have vegetarian food when they share meals, too, that way Buck doesn’t have to be afraid of eating. It’s a nice thing they have going on, really, and he can’t help how much he loves it. 

After work, however, Buck is still on his own. The 118 is a pleasure confined to the inside of the firehouse, something he knows but aches with the memory of every time anyways. He can survive on his own the way he did before them, the way he did in the labs. It’s clear to him that the crew are a pack. Maybe, eventually, he’ll be able to join it, but for now, he is on the outs while humans get the luxury of being held and comforted with the sort of things Buck knows he’s missed out on. His mother, human and unloving, had never held him and scent-marked him when he was young and in need of it. Those at the labs certainly didn’t bother. But that doesn’t stop him from instinctively craving the familiarity of another wolf welcoming him home.

Chimney gets it in a way the other two don’t. As they both get more used to each other, another wolf in their lives mostly consisting of humans, Chimney starts in on these overly-familiar behaviors. Buck can’t tell whether it makes him feel welcome or overwhelmed. Either way, it mingles his scent with Chimney’s against every surface in the firehouse, and there are these moments when Chimney reaches out to him, bares his neck and there’s clearly some sort of question there- Buck just doesn’t know what it is, and he’s much too embarrassed to ask.

He doesn’t engage in whatever it is, unsure if he’s allowed. Chimney has more seniority in the station and in this little pack than he does; for all intents and purposes, he’s the Alpha, and it’s his scent that coats every inch of the place. Buck finds his own intermingled in the common areas, as well as the more subtle wafts of Hen and Bobby, with hints of the firefighters on other shifts glancing off the couch. It’s nowhere near the same forced emptiness that the labs had. While it’s overwhelming, it’s also comforting, and he’s starting to get used to it, surprisingly.

A cell phone is one of those things Buck needed to join this world, and although it took time to understand, he’s glued to it in his downtime, poring over articles about whatever crosses his mind. He read through the history of firehouse dogs when Bobby made a joke about dalmatians, plying the team with countless facts about them for the rest of that shift. Even if he’s not good enough, he can learn. This is no different than teaching himself to write all over again when he rejoined the world. 

When a long call was followed by the others using the communal showers- something which Buck is more than happy to avoid, no matter how sweaty he gets- and Chimney doing that thing where he turns his face to the side and tilts his head back right in front of Buck, he winds up googling it.  _ Werewolf showing throat? Friend showing throat? Alpha showing throat?  _ He isn’t sure exactly how to even describe what’s going on. But with a few links down the rabbit hole, he comes upon a website dedicated to informing humans about werewolves. It talks about medicine, and social dynamics, and the werewolf rights movement that apparently happened during the time Buck was in those labs. Go figure. If he had been born just a couple years later, maybe none of the things that happened to him would have. Maybe he wouldn’t have even been turned.

The website helpfully shows him an article on scent marking in packs, directed toward humans who are close to werewolves. Buck isn’t human, but he knows as much as one, so he figures that it’s fine to read up on. A lot of the information is redundant to what he already knows. The way objects and people are often marked, how it can be a sign of affection and/or friendship for a werewolf to want to scent mark you. It’s good information, just not what he wanted, until he finally reaches a section that’s only kind of relevant. 

_ Werewolves who are disoriented, due to the full moon, injury, illness, or any other cause may not recognize you as a human. If a Werewolf bares their neck to you, it’s a sign of trust. Some say it is submissive, but the majority of the community doesn’t view it that way. If they bare their neck, they’re asking for you to scent-mark them! If you feel comfortable, it’s always a good idea to engage. Your pheromones aren’t as strong as werewolves, but by engaging in scent-mark behavior, you’ll leave a little trace behind, which is better than nothing. Press your cheek (or lips, if you’re a lover) against their pulse point and nuzzle your face against them. This will leave some of your scent behind, and is a wonderful way to express love.  _

_ The only time baring a neck to a human is a universal sign of submission comes from were-species other than Werewolves. See our articles about Werecats, Werebirds, and more! Some species, particularly Werecats, may bare their neck submissively during a heat or rut- _

Buck can’t close out of the tab fast enough. That doesn’t apply to him, and he’s familiar enough with the culture to be aware of what those things mean. He hasn’t met other species besides Werewolves, and based on some of his extensive research, there’s debate on whether or not they actually even exist. They certainly don’t exist in the protective laws written in blood. 

He ponders on it for a couple hours. If what the article says is true, Chimney trusts him already, only a few short days into his life with the 118. The thought makes him warm inside. No one’s really trusted him like that before, certainly not the lab. Once, when he was young, he thinks he tried to scent-mark the head researcher. She was the closest thing to a parent he had. But when he tried, she used the shock stick for the very first time, and he still has that web of scars across his chest. 

After dinner, Buck and Chimney are both on dish duty, and he convinces himself that it’s alright to trust him. Nothing bad has happened yet. If Chimney gets angry at him, at least he won’t hurt him with all these witnesses- at least, Buck can only hope. He watches him out of the corner of his eye until Chimney does it again. Baring his neck. Offering. Tentatively, Buck leans forward and presses his cheek up against the steady thrum of Chimney’s pulse. He can feel his heartbeat. It’s comforting, and the only thing he can smell is the warmth and happiness to Chimney’s scent. He hums a little, can’t help it, until there’s the weight of a hand against his back. Then he can’t get away fast enough. 

He’s here. He’s at the station. He’s with Chimney. 

But telling himself that doesn’t push the memories down, or protect him from the way they crawl up the back of his throat and bully their way in front of his eyes. He doesn’t want to see this, doesn’t want to feel this, but it’s not a choice in the exact same way he didn’t choose for it to happen the first time. 

_ The water is cold. It’s always that way. The bowl they let him drink out of is always lukewarm, but the water that comes out of the showers is icy no matter how hard the sun shined outside. Shower Time comes after their weekly Outside Time. There’s dirt, blood, and sweat caked onto their bodies, some dislodging under the spray but most waiting for her to come around with the soap.  _

_ While he sees the others outside, that’s not the same as this. In the grass, they’re ordered to attack each other, force shifts from each frail body. Those who disobey get the shock stick, or worse, thrown into isolation. There’s only survival out there, but in here, there’s community. Standing naked in a line, coated in goosebumps, he’s not alone. They’re suffering with him.  _

_ “Arms up!” _

_ She grabs his wrist and her nails dig into it as she roughly scrubs each arm with the rough washcloth. At least everyone gets their own one of those. She isn’t gentle with anyone, but it feels as though she’s especially rough with him. The stiff, cold fabric is too harsh on his face. It leaves welts sometimes. Today, he can tell that it will. She’s mad at him. He doesn’t remember why; most of his hours blur into a single monotonous hum. But she’s angry.  _

_ “You’re lucky to be here,” she reminds. Her nails cut into his ribs and leave blood behind. “If you weren’t here, you’d have been shot. You’re a monster, Evan, don’t forget it.” _

_ “I’m not a monster.” _

_ He didn’t mean to speak.  _

_ “What did you say to me?” _

_ She shoves him forward, palm flat between his shoulder blades. The tile is wet beneath him and he only falls, cracking down on the hard ceramic first with his arms, then his face. He can’t move his arm. More blood pools beneath him. _

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He looks up at Chimney, whose eyes are soft and hands extended. Not defensive, but open. It’s a non-threatening gesture, an attempt at keeping calm. Without words, it’s a sign that Chimney isn’t looking to hurt him.

But how many times did he see this same posture back there? They “weren’t going to hurt him” but really, it was about calming him down so they could do what they wanted anyways. The shock stick was the usual go-to but that hurt so much worse- especially because Buck always fell for it. He trusted them every time. Or, more accurately, he trusted  _ her _ every time. Now he knows better, and just takes another step back away from Chimney. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Instead, Buck retreats, all the way down the stairs and to the engine bay where he can focus on anything else. Clean the truck, like he knows how. The open doors make for an easy escape if he needs one. 

It’s not like he genuinely expects Chimney to hurt him, or even believes he would. There’s just this fear left behind from the way he was raised, trapped in those blank walls and treated like something less than human. He is less than human, he thinks. If he wasn’t, they would have never taken him away in the first place.

No one bothers him for a while, instead allowing him to calm down on his own as the afternoon heat drifts in. They’re good at that; giving him space when he remembers things too strongly. But when he seeks out their company, they seem more than willing to sit with him. Slowly, Buck thinks he might be starting to trust them, against his better judgement. Although he’s still shaken with the phantom weight of a hand against his skin, he returns to the loft and joins Hen playing a video game. She doesn’t comment on the sliver of space he leaves between them. 

“Chimney’s a good person?”

“I’d like to think we all are,” she says. Her character on the screen unleashes a brightly colored attack on Buck’s. “We’re a family here. And I don’t know what you’ve been through, but you’re part of this family.”

He shrugs. “I haven’t been here long. And I don’t- there’s a lot of things I don’t know.”

“You’ll learn. We’ve got your back, Buckley.”

Buck smiles and distracts himself playing the video game with her until Bobby calls them to the table for dinner. There’s a chicken dish for their main protein, but for Buck, there’s an assortment of roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, and garlic bread. He fills his plate with side dishes, like always. Chimney comes to the table last, watching Buck like he’s waiting for him to run away. 

In an attempt to tell him it’s okay, he did nothing wrong, Buck bares his neck. It’s a weird gesture, but when Chimney leans down and scent marks him on his way by, he feels calmer. He’s still wanted. He smiles at Chimney over the table, and they dig in.


	3. Chapter 3

Now that Buck has figured out the whole scent-marking thing, he gets a lot more at ease with the team. It feels like every day he spends with them feels safer. There had been a time where he wasn’t afraid of the labs, but that was gone in a matter of days. Several weeks with the 118 have passed, during which he’s only had fleeting moments of fear that were quick to dissolve when thoroughly examined. He’s still learning the way packs interact. The way he interacted with the others was never so familiar or safe; they were pitted against each other or kept separate, save for the showers. There was no shared clothing, scent-marking, or friendly breakfasts.

He has a mental catalogue of the pack- team- pack? It’s hard to know. He has a mental catalogue of them, their scents, their personalities, their hands. Whatever they are to him, he recognizes their comforting scents and when they shift ever so slightly with one emotion or the other. He had to learn how to do that at the labs. To know if she was angry with him or more patient. Now it’s almost second nature, especially because they don’t wear perfumes or bleach to isolate him. No one hates him for smelling, knowing. They care for him. And Buck knows their personalities, at least well enough to trust their good intentions. Chimney is touchy, drops a lot of scent, but it’s from a place of love. Bobby cooks, as his love language, providing for the team in the same Alpha sort of way Chimney does, without ever second guessing Buck’s terror of meat but supporting him nonetheless. Hen talks as opposed to showing with her actions, but her words are always kind and reassuring, often just the right thing that everyone needs to hear. He doesn’t know where he fits in, but he has to find something to offer them before they decide he isn’t worth it anymore.

The team needed a firefighter, not a paramedic, and Buck fills that space to the best of his ability. He did good in the academy, he knows, but it takes something more to be useful in the field. He works hard with that. The 118, they teach him where they can and trust him where they can’t. He learns how to use every tool with a certain intimacy void of the practical exams in the LAFD academy. 

Buck hasn’t got anybody besides these three yet, but he’s more than okay with that. It’s more than he’s had in a long time. His outside hours are still lonely, though. He goes home and the place is empty, but that’s the way it usually is with him. He has a handful of items that belong to him. There’s some food in his fridge, the sort he doesn’t have to learn to prepare. His mattress sits in the middle of the floor in the studio, unhidden and taking over the space. It makes the room his. There’s a fitted sheet over it and a simple quilt from the department store. It has brightly colored patterns, vibrant to fill the space. His. There’s toiletries in the bathroom, too, and he keeps his clothes spread out over the floor. He doesn’t have a dresser, and he likes to be able to see it. He owns more clothes than just a hospital gown that got changed on shower day every week. It’s not as filled as the station is, but it’s absolutely worlds less clinical than he was used to in the past. 

He plays with his phone in those empty hours, to fill the silence. There’s thousands of free mobile games to get sucked into, most of which are mercilessly mindless. It’s through them he got better with his reading and speaking. Buck was able to communicate, of course, but he could hear the way he was described. Simple. He can’t make up for a decade of lost learning, but he did enough to pass his GED exam, and that got him into the LAFD. The games are helpful. The one he plays tonight is some sort of puzzle, where he has to come up with words from the letters placed in front of him and fill in the crossword. He pauses often to look up the definitions of new words he finds in the process. It’s fun, easy, good. Calming. He’s learning that some calls are bad, and can’t all be perfect successes, but he can win this game with ease. That’s something easy to solve.

Hen recommended him a fun one with colors he has to try at one point, arranging the little blocks to make the mismatched rubix cube of a thing into a smooth gradient. He loves puzzle games. As he goes through their text log looking for it, he realizes that he doesn’t have to be alone now, either. They mostly text when in different rooms of the firehouse, but if Hen didn’t want to talk to him, she wouldn’t have put time into even that. He manages to type out a hello to her, and then one to Chimney. Hen sends back a picture of her wife, Karen, coloring with their son, asking what he’s up to. He replies with a screenshot of his puzzle game. Chimney takes a while longer, sending a series of emojis and a blurry photo of what Buck thinks is Bobby. He doesn’t know what to do with that, so he doesn’t respond.

But he doesn’t feel as alone after, now that he’s at least had a response from them both. They care enough to text back, even if it wasn’t all that comprehensible. He relishes in the ability to talk to others if he wants to, riding that high of warmth and company until his next shift at the station. 

He’s barely in the door before they’re onto the a call, rushing to pull on his turnout gear with his duffel left by the bench. Hen is making a grab for her helmet. There’s some sort of gas leak somewhere, and they have to do a full evacuation of the multi-story apartment building. Hopefully without triggering a spark that could light up the place. He’s nervous during the drive imagining it. People could die. On their way to the place, dispatch comes into their ears over the radio once more.

“118, be advised, some of the tenants are unconscious from fumes and may not respond to verbal call-outs.”

“Copy that, dispatch,” Buck says. “You know what floor we’re talking?”

“According to the other unit on site, gas levels are heaviest on the bottom floors. Hold for more information.”

Buck smiles. “Holding, ma’m.”

“Maddie.”

“Holding, Maddie. Firefighter Buckley.”

She pauses. “Buckley?”

He looks at the others, but they seem just as confused about it as he feels. “Yeah. Evan Buckley for the 118.”

There’s a long emptiness then, and Buck doesn’t know what he did to deserve it. He doesn’t think he said anything wrong, and Hen and Chim are sharing a look he isn’t able to decipher. Bobby is just as unreadable, driving them along. All they can hear is the muffled sirens.

“Maddie, everything alright?” Chimney finally asks. 

“Yeah. Yes. Firehouse 124 reports that gas levels are high enough to knock people out for the first seven floors. Eight through twelve are enough to make them sick. Thirteen through fifteen aren’t really feeling it. They have cleared floors one through three and fifteen through eleven.”

“Copy,” he says, and that’s it. 

They get there and Hen and Chimney immediately go to help the other station’s paramedics. That leaves Buck and Bobby going in to do evacs, stepping through unconscious bodies on the grass. They’ll need much more help, Bobby advising to keep sending backup while Buck picks up two children on the fourth floor, pulling them over his shoulders and staggering under their weight. But they’re just kids, and he won’t leave either behind. There is another thing freedom has done for him. He’s well fed and works out, no longer the skinny kid he had been in the labs. He’s able to do it, and deposit the two children in front of Hen on the grass outside, a safe distance away. 

He and Bobby work in tandem with other crews- other packs- in getting the place emptied out until finally, they know there are no casualties left behind. Dispatch got the gas shut off and once it starts to fully dissipate, specialists can go in and fix the leak that caused it. They don’t lose anyone. Buck helps people with mild symptoms or none at all get the all clear while others tend to the severe cases until the area is cleared and they can head back to the station. By then, everyone is exhausted

Someone new is in their firehouse, he can see as soon as they approach. It’s a woman, with brown hair and a dark red shirt, although other details won’t be clear until they climb out of the cabin. Buck lets the others go first. It’s cowardly, but then again, they always said he was for being afraid of the tests. Slowly, he gets out, and studies her from here. Her scent is faint. Human. And she has tears in her eyes, which focus tightly on him. 

“Evan,” She says. 

He takes a step back and looks to Bobby. He would like to be safe here, but there’s no way to know yet. The people who call him that name are in his past. He’s past them now, or at least trying to be, and whatever it takes, he won’t go back. Buck would sooner die than go with her. 

“Evan, is it really you?”

“Ma’am, can I ask who you are?” Bobby interrupts. “We just came off a really long call.”

She nods, still looking at him over Bobby’s uniformed shoulder. “I know, I was the dispatcher. I’m uh, Maddie Buckley. I was his big sister. Am his big sister.”

Buck tries to remember a sister. If they share the same last name, she must have been before the lab, and his recollections of that time are infrequent and unreliable. He was so young. He thinks he must have been in second grade when they took him. From those early lost days, he mostly recalls blood and wetting the bed, traits that lasted well into the labs. If he thinks really hard there is a flash of hair like hers, and a pink sweater. But he doesn’t remember her face or name, and stays back. 

“Forgive me, Miss Buckley, but can we see some ID? Just a safety measure.”

She raises an eyebrow but digs out her wallet anyways, opening it to show her ID next to her face. “Evan and I were born in Pennsylvania. He’s 26 and he’s had that birthmark since he was a kid. He went missing when I was in fifth grade and my parents acted like he never existed. I’ve been looking for him for a long time. Evan, please, don’t you remember?”

“I don’t remember a sister,” Buck admits. He swallows. “I don’t remember my parents either, though, so that doesn’t mean anything.”

“I have some pictures, from before you were taken. We can meet for coffee, I’ll show you. I’m so happy you’re okay, Evan-”

“Please stop calling me Evan. It’s Buck.”

Her mouth shuts so fast that her teeth audibly click, but she nods and doesn’t repeat his given name. It’s one thing to say it when they might need to identify him in a system, or anything official, but it’s another to be addressed by it, over and over again. That was a name of a different time. She keeps her physical distance and speaks again.

“I can give you my number, if you want. No pressure, but I really would love to hear from you.”

She writes a number down on the back of a receipt and finally steps forward, holding it out to him. Maddie has a hopelessly kind smile, and he isn’t as afraid of her as he would have been a couple months ago. Bobby hasn’t interrupted again which means she is who she says she is, at the very least. He stuffs it into his duffel where he dropped it at the beginning of the shift, to deal with at home when the loneliness creeps back in again. If he doesn’t text her, he can imagine her showing up here again. “No pressure,” in Buck’s experience, really means “do it before I make you.” But he has time, the excuse of the job, to rely upon for at least a little while.

They all finish shedding their turnout gear and head to the showers, save for Buck. He’ll rinse off at home. Hen makes a point, however, to lean in close and tell him he did good today. The praise rinses off some of the unease from Maddie, something he can’t thank her for enough, and when he goes home it isn’t as heavy. He has until his next shift to text. Or to find a way to hide from her. 

Under the hot water of his own shower, rinsing away sweat and dirt, he pictures Maddie as part of his pack. She seems kind, like Hen, Chimney, and Bobby, and he’d like to think he has blood family left who care. His parents are the ones who gave him up, he knows that much. The researchers told him that every time he cried for mommy or daddy in the middle of the night or while they drew blood from his bruised inner arm again. Having a sister might be good. It’s another tether to this new world he’s learning to live in. 

Chimney texts him another picture of Bobby, this time over a dinner table, and Hen tells him about another puzzle game. Buck texts Maddie a simple hello, and in that one word, opens himself up to heal a little more. 


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a few days later, just a couple prior to the full moon, that Buck and Maddie meet for coffee. He hasn’t acquired the taste for it, and fully intends to just get some iced tea to fight against the heat of Los Angeles. It never really cools down here, not the way it did back in the labs. Sometimes Buck would be brought outside with the others and there was snow on the ground or in the air. It rained a lot, too. Rain in LA is infrequent and half-hearted in comparison. He likes that, though, because the weather is mostly warm in contrast to the artificial cool he used to live in. 

Maddie buys his iced tea for him, insisting that it’s the polite thing to do since it was her idea. Buck isn’t sure of that exactly. She would know better than he would, though, so he allows her to pay for his tea and follows her to a little table on the patio outside the cafe. The sun is too bright reflecting off their plastic cups and the laminate table, the breeze making him nervous every time it shifts his hair. That sensation is new, too. They had buzzcuts at the labs, never letting his hair get long enough to be ruffled in the wind or gelled down. Even the girls. Hen has a closer shave than Buck did, but Maddie has long waves that move and bounce with every turn of her face, They catch the light in strange ways at the different angles her hair sits. Instead of speaking, he looks at her hair for a while until she says his name softly. 

“Where have you been for the last 15 years?”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t have it in him to really talk about it all, let alone with someone he just met, even though she’s supposed to be his sister. Once again, he thinks about the idea of a big sister when he was still young and free. Her hair was lighter but he gets a millisecond memory of her dark eyes, the same ones in front of him now. He can’t be confident in his assumption it’s her though, or even that the memories were real. She doesn’t ask again, and takes his silence as a reason to change topics. 

“You know, I moved out here just a couple years ago. I divorced my ex-husband and started over. It was too hard for me to be a nurse again, so I wound up at 911 dispatch, where I’ve been ever since. That firehouse, 118, they’re friends of mine. I was seeing Howie- Chimney- for a bit, but he wound up with Bobby, and he set me up with this really nice girl. Her name’s Lena, she’s with another house, and she acts tough, but she makes a fantastic apple pie.”

It’s simple information. None of it’s truly personal, but Buck can tell she’s being truthful. It’s a skill he got very good at when he needed to.

_ “You’re going to be just fine, Evan, quit whining.” _

_ There are hands all over him. His wrists, his legs, his chest, his head. He heard and felt one of his ribs crack under the force. But still, he’s struggling, because he hates this. It’s been ninety days which means they need to see him transform. But no, it’s never so easy. They never say “Hey, Evan, we would like to watch you.” He wouldn’t do it, but they never even considered the idea he would be okay with anything. That should mean they know they’re doing something wrong. _

_ She presses his face to the side so his cheek is squished against the silver metal. No one bothered with a sheet. It makes his jaw ache and gives her access to his neck for the injection. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it makes him a monster. Normally they just prod him or yell at him until it happens. But for this, they force him into it quick and feral. It burns, transforming so fast. He screams and thrashes and struggles, but they hold him down no matter how much it hurts.  _

_ “Be good, and we’ll give you a treat afterward.” _

_ There was no treat. Whether he was compliant or combative, there was no reward.  _

“How long have you been in LA?”

“Just a few years,” Buck tells her. “I started off bartending and doing odd jobs. Once I got my GED, I started the academy. Top of my class last month.”

She smiles at him. “That’s impressive, I’m really proud of you.”

Another thing he can’t come up with a response to. So he just smiles at her and leaves it at that. They finish their coffee in near silence, before he has to go into work and gives a relieved goodbye. He wants to know Maddie, he does, but it’s complicated, and besides that, he doesn’t have the experience in the world or in life to know how to handle her questions and her complex facial expressions. Leaving her for the 118 is a welcome reprieve, although he promises they’ll talk again soon. 

At the station, Buck can tell something is up. No one’s laughing or joking. Instead, they’re quietly talking at the table upstairs. For a moment, he assumes it’s about him. They’re going to get rid of him. But then he remembers they’re his pack, and they’ve repeatedly proven they want him to stay. Still, he keeps his footsteps as soft as possible until he can tell what they’re talking about. 

“No, no, you don’t have to stay with me,” Chimney argues. “First of all, you have a shift. Second of all, I’m not the only wolf anymore, and we both know-”

Hen spots him and interrupts Chimney. “Hey, Buck. Cereal?”

He nods, so she pours him a bowl and puts it in front of the empty chair he usually sits in. They were talking about him, he thinks, but he can’t tell if it was good or not. As he starts his breakfast, Chimney and Bobby keep exchanging loaded glances until something gives, and Bobby clears his throat in that all-important captain way. 

“So, Buck, what are your plans for the full moon?”

It’s a couple days away, but Buck already knows what he’ll be doing. It’s what he’s done since he escaped the labs. They had lead coated walls, and were underground, which protected Buck and all the others from their full moon shifts. Apparently it would make them too out of control. They would be monsters. Ever since escaping, Buck has found himself some sleeping pills, taken more than the recommended amount, and hunkered down in his bed for the night to escape turning into the killer he was as a child. Every morning after finds him sore and soaked in sweat, his clothes torn, but he didn’t leave the apartment or hurt anyone, so it’s alright. He’s handling it. 

“I’m going to sleep.”

Chimney raises his eyebrows. “You can sleep through the full moon?”

“I take something for it,” Buck answers casually. “I don’t do the full moon.”

They all stare at him. He’s said something wrong again, and  _ again _ , he can’t understand what it is. He wish it wasn’t this way, or that there was something he could do to help them all understand that he’s trying, he just went through so much. Maybe if they knew, they’d understand. But that would require Buck to be able to talk about it, which the mere thought of has his throat closing up.

“You can’t just ‘not do the full moon,’ dude,” Chimney says. 

It’s easier to look at his serial than at the others. “Well, I don’t. I’ve never done the full moon. When I first got turned, the moon in general was freaky for me, and then I was in the labs for years, and they protected us from it. Ever since I came to LA, I just sleep through it.”

“There’s a lot to unpack there,” Hen replies. “Can we start with the labs? What labs, Buck?”

He’s said too much. He knows Hen enough to be sure if he doesn’t say anything, she won’t push him, and no one here would hold that against him. But to speak on it, admit what he went through, is such an ordeal he isn’t capable of. In his silence, Bobby pulls out his phone and types on it for a minute before handing it to Buck. It’s a news article, he realizes after a moment, about a woman named Michelle. She looks around the age he was when he escaped, with the same haunted eyes as all of them did, and the headline in bold makes his heart stutter. 

**Nineteen Year Old Werewolf Escapes Government Lab; Blows Whistle.**

He doesn’t recognize her personally. She wasn’t in his lab. But according to the article, she was in one in Montana, and when she escaped at a date maybe a year after he did, she called the news. There were raids on dozens of labs, photos attached that he recognizes. The showers. That awful little room, just a toilet and a bed. The barbed wire. The vials of blood. Bile rises in his throat at such a clear reminder, but he keeps reading anyways. Most of those who were rescued are institutionalized now, unable to care for themselves. A few others are scattered around the country. Still others killed themselves within a week of rescue. Some of them were given up by their parents, like Buck, while others were simply picked up off the street and never seen again. This is proof he’s not alone, and that he’s not the only one broken by it, but it also means that people know he was a monster. When he returns Bobby’s phone, his hands shake. 

“Was it like that?” Bobby asks gently. Kindly. “She told the world what happened. It’s okay.”

It would mean he never has to say the depth of what he’s been through if Buck says yes, but it also proves that something bad happened. He could, in this instant, say no, if he really wanted to. They might not believe it, but they would accept it. Everyone would move on. 

“I think it was in Pennsylvania. That’s where I was born, and when they took me, the drive wasn’t that long.”

Hen nods and offers a hand for him to take. So little time ago, Buck would refuse to take it, but today, he feels almost like he can. With a deep breath to calm himself, he curls his fingers around hers, and when she squeezes, it feels like being held.

“I can help you through the full moon, if you want,” Chimney offers. “You’ll have to sometime, and maybe I can make it easier. We’ll get a moon room at a hotel and make a whole thing of it.” He steals a couple of Buck’s cereal and pops them into his mouth with a loud crunch. “And that way, you’d be safe, no matter what. I’ll look after you.”

“Uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but won’t you also be shifting?”

Chimney gives him the most understanding smile. It borders on condescending, Buck thinks, before reminding himself that he’s not being mocked or manipulated for not knowing. “Over time, it gets easier. The full moon is still hard, but I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s more like just being a little crazy for the night. Bobby and I usually stay in with takeout, find ways to deal with the extra energy-” he wiggles his eyebrows for effect, “and I nap the next day. It’s not always bad. Or at least, it doesn’t have to be.”

The offer hangs in the air between them. Buck could try a shift for the first time in two decades, just to see if he might be able to reign it in. It would be the safest way, he realizes, to accept. He trusts that Chimney isn’t going to let anything happen, and that he’d stop Buck if he came close to hurting anyone. If there’s any safe way to become that monster, it’s having Chimney there with him. Maybe this doesn’t have to hurt.

“You promise it’s safe?”

“I promise,” Chimney says, like it’s not even a question. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Buck nods and enjoys the warmth that comes from being accepted and cared for as a member of a pack for the very first time. It’s going to be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

Buck meets Chimney at the hotel. Bobby too. He didn’t know Bobby was coming, but apparently it’s safer and generally a good idea to have a human around, just in case. To be honest, that’s more reassuring than he expected it to be; it makes sure that if something happens, someone will have a clear head to help. He loves and trusts Chimney, of course, but he knows they’ll both be in a shift through the night, and from what Buck has been through, he knows it is ugly. 

He's had an itch under his skin since the night before in preparation for this, and the closer dusk draws, the worse it's going to get. Then he'll lose control. There is no sleeping medication here. Buck knew, packing his bag, that if he brought any then he would take it as an easy out rather than go through with this, and he does want on some level to prove that he can handle a full moon. Above all else, he wants to know if he is a monster.

Chimney, for his part, just seems overly energetic. He puts a couple water bottles in the provided fridge and asks Bobby to engage the lock. Apparently, this is it. "We can't open it until morning," Chimney explains. "It's a safety measure. Bobby and the hotel staff have an override code in case of emergency, but otherwise, we're gonna be fine. Oh- I'm gonna order some room service first. Want anything?"

Buck shakes his head, but Chimney still orders two rare t-bones and leaves them on the counter while they waste time until sunset. He's not really up to talking, instead focusing on his game, and the other two seem to sense that and leave him be. He busies himself with the little number puzzle and the comfort of the bed under his back, until the sun's last rays begin to vanish, leaving the room to slip into darkness and the moon to peek into the night sky.

The shift starts not with pain, as he's grown accustomed, but with discomfort. His chest feels tight and his skin all wrong. Buck looks to Chimney immediately, to see him stretching as his body transforms. He does not become unrecognizable, though, and offers Buck a playful grin with sharp teeth as he waits for the same change to overcome him. It hurts a little, eventually, although not as much as before, until it stops altogether and he’s left flooded with some kind of energy unlike what he’s ever felt running through his veins.

“Still with me, Buck?”

He looks over to Chimney as he shakes out his own limbs to refamiliarize himself with them. They feel stronger. More at ease. And he can tell his teeth have come in sharp, ready for whatever happens. This isn’t the same thing that happened to him in the labs, despite being the full moon, and he can almost welcome it. Shifting, for the very first time, feels natural. 

“Still with you.” Talking around his teeth feels weird. “This- the shift has never felt like this.”

“Like you’re meant to be this way?”

Buck nods. “Yeah, actually.”

Chimney gives him a water bottle, both of them laughing a little when they spill trying to drink. It’s then that Buck catches his translucent reflection in the windows, compared to Chimney and Bobby’s. He’s taller, he realizes, and he looks a little bit more like the sort of models hung up on posters at the gym near the firehouse. He steps closer to the window to look better, see how his long, sharpened canines look in his mouth, and that’s when he sees it. Just reaching the edge of the hills. 

He presses his hands, and then his face, against the glass, desperate to get closer to it. The moon. Buck is overcome, suddenly, with the need to see it up close, touch it, know it. Smell it. He thinks it would smell like safety, perhaps like his pack, and although there is a rational thought in his mind that he’s being strange. But it’s the moon. He presses against the window but it stays still, so he takes a step back and throws his body into it. It hurts. But he can break it.

“Hey, hold on, Buck-”

When he does it a second time, the glass still doesn’t give, much to his frustration. He needs to get to the moon immediately. He has to, even when hitting his face hurts. After the third try, Chimney manages to put himself in the middle, and gets his attention. 

“Look at me. It’s okay.”

“The moon-”

Chimney nods, guiding Buck away from the window. “I know. I know, it’s very pretty, and you want to get to it. That’s why we’re in this room, Buck. It happens to all of us, and people can get really hurt trying to get closer to it. Yeah?”

Buck searches his eyes and finds nothing but the usual kindness and understanding. Even fondness. He smiles a little, and nods as he’s nudged into a seat at the little table, in front of the steaks. While he still doesn’t eat meat, still afraid of it, sitting here tonight it smells enticing in a way it hasn’t since they first made him earn his meals. His mouth starts watering.

“You can have it,” Chimney says. He even nudges the plate closer. “One for each of us?”

For a few moments, Buck still hesitates. His gaze drifts back to the window as Chimney picks up one of the steaks and tears into it with his teeth, heedless of the mess he makes. Then Bobby laughs, reminding Buck of his presence, and comes up to them to kiss Chimney’s cheek affectionately and ruffle Buck’s hair. It’s strangely like parents in the children’s books Buck read might do, even if he isn’t Bobby’s child and won’t ever be. 

“Try just a little, it’s good for you,” Bobby says. “You’re in a shift, your body needs it.”

Bobby isn’t asking. There is no question in voice, only the usual orders, and Buck can’t bring himself to argue. He lifts up the cut of meat. This is strange in its firmness, cooked just enough to have a sear on the outside and a bit of seasoning. Besides that, there is no gristle or joints to deal with, the only bone being the one the steak’s cut is named after. His hands shake, holding it up to his mouth. It tears easy in his mouth, tastes different than he recalls, but enough of it is familiar to make his throat convulse around it. He spits it out onto the table. 

“Okay?” Chimney asks.

All that Buck can do is shake his head. He stands up and tries to forget what it felt like, tasted like, smelled like. Too easily, he remembers having to kill his own prey in the middle of an induced shift, and how it was often still twitching when his teeth sank into the flesh, too starved to refuse them this. After a while, it became the only way they would allow him to eat. He finds himself pacing restlessly over it, trying to stave off another incapacitating flashback on a night Chimney had said was supposed to be good. 

Once again on his feet, all he can focus on is the moon through the window. The moon won’t hurt him. The moon will protect him. It will take care of him. It is family. He gets a running start this time, but still can’t break through the glass to reach its pale face. He needs it like he needs oxygen. If he focuses, he can imagine its cold, satiating taste on his tongue to drive away that of the meat, and the mere thought is enough for another painful attempt at getting to it. He needs the moon. Buck tries again, and again, and again and again because the moon is his all. 

After he hits his face hard enough to see stars, someone grabs him and drags him away from the moon. He screams and tries to get out of the hold, but he can’t. There are two pairs of hands on him. Nothing he does seems to free him.

_ “You never learn, Evan.” _

_ He doesn’t know when he started bleeding, just that it’s everywhere by now. Some of it splattered on his chest when he coughed. They will fix him up, but for now, they love to see him in pain for all that they claim to learn from it. He fights back against the hands pinning him down, even if he can’t manage much in the face of their strength. _

_ “You’re a coward. You’re weak. You’re a monster. You should feel lucky that we’re here to take care of you.” _

_ So he does the only thing he can. He hits his head back against the metal table, trying to knock himself out so he won’t have to feel it anymore. God, he’s tired of it. He thinks he might be an adult now, as are most of the others, but he can’t even read the things they write for the tests they never stop subjecting him to. They have made an idiot out of him too. If he ever gets out, he likely will have nothing to turn to. Death might be easier.  _

_ “Stay still. We’re helping you.” _

_ When he does not obey, she backhands him hard enough to split his already puffy bottom lip. More blood. _

“Buck! Calm down!”

_ That isn’t right. Here they call him Evan, or by the set of numbers they decide do just fine to identify him. He tries to get up, get away from them, but as always, there is nothing he can do to escape their clutches. She stares down at him while a lab assistant slices into his wrist to reveal his tendons in time for another to give him the injection to force a shift.  _

_ “No, please.” _

Two cold hands still his head, pressing it back against a plush carpet that Buck doesn’t recognize- it is not that of the labs, nor the little apartment he’s been staying in. All he can see are eyes, not like hers, but still familiar enough to frighten him. He can’t move. There is a weight against his limbs that keeps his whole body pinned. 

“Let me go!”

“Buck, hey, come on. Listen to me, it’s okay. We’re trying to keep you safe. You were hurting yourself.”

He arches his back in a desperate attempt to free himself. No success. For as long as he can, he fights to be released, but just as before he escaped the labs, nothing he does is enough. Weak. Even now, he is too weak to protect himself. Eventually, he simply gives up, and lays there until the automatic lock on the door beeps to announce that the whole night has passed them by. It’s over. 

Buck wiggles out from under the person holding him, who has evidently fallen asleep, and crawls to the door. He feels battered, though he was not directly hurt. There are bruises on his wrists, he realizes, but they’re nothing he hasn’t lived through before. He just wants to go home. 

Hotel security watches him warily, but no one tries to stop him on his journey as far from this place as possible. He can’t think straight, which makes it a miracle when he winds up outside his flat and stumbles in to collapse on the mattress. Everything is sore. This full moon was just as painful as the shifts he endured before it, simply in a different way. Even Chimney and Bobby thought him to be a monster, and held him down until he could control himself once more. 

He falls asleep so quickly, he wonders if the night was simply another strange dream from the sleeping pills.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @gaychimney. Chapters uploaded as written


End file.
